


See Me

by Scholastica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Family, Female Harry Potter, Minor Changes to Timeline, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24456970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scholastica/pseuds/Scholastica
Summary: Hattie Potter suspects Draco Malfoy of being a Death Eater and she's determined to prove it.  One fateful encounter, however, changes everything.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 239





	See Me

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is a female Harry Potter story that takes place around some of the events of the chapter "Sectumsempra" in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling. There are minor changes to the timeline (mainly Lucius Malfoy is already out of Azkaban).
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. All italicized text that one recognizes belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Draco Malfoy and… _Moaning Myrtle_?!

Hattie Potter stared with disbelieving eyes at the names of the unlikely pair printed side by side on the Marauder’s Map.

What?!

The girl blinked. No, it had to be some kind of mistake. It – the map – had to be wrong. Or she had to be reading it wrong. There was just no logical explanation for Draco Malfoy and the resident toilet ghost to be sharing the same space. It just wasn’t…likely. She had to be looking at it upside down…

Except she wasn’t, and she knew it. The Marauder’s Map never lied.

But Malfoy and Myrtle…

If that wasn’t a duo that didn’t scream strange, she would give her Aunt Petunia a hug.

But what were the two doing together? Hattie flicked her eyes at the tiny lines boxing the two names in and quickly realized they were in a boy’s bathroom a floor below her. Well, she supposed she’d just have to find out.

Without deliberating over the matter a second longer, the girl turned her feet immediately in the direction of the nearest staircase. If Malfoy was up to something – and him hanging about with Moaning Myrtle was definitely something – then she wanted to know what it was.

Not even a full minute later, the girl found herself standing just outside of her destination. Swiftly checking for any on-lookers and finding none, she carefully and silently opened the bathroom door and slid inside.

The reflection of Malfoy’s pale blond head and shoulders, bowed and trembling, greeted her in one of the room’s many mirrors; his hands, knuckles white, were gripped tightly to a sink. The shimmery, ghostly visage of Moaning Myrtle hovered an arm’s length away from the boy.

_“Don’t,”_ the ghost murmured softly to the Slytherin. _“Tell me what’s wrong…I can help you…”_

Malfoy shook his head. _“No one can help me,”_ he said in a morose voice. _“I can’t do it…I can’t…It won’t work…and unless I do it soon…he says he’ll kill me.”_

Hattie stared dumbfounded at the boy. Just what had she walked in on? _Kill him?!_ Who was he talking about? Voldemort?! Was Voldemort going to kill him?! That couldn’t be right. Malfoy was a Pureblood Death Eater-in-training. Surely if anyone was safe from the Dark Lord’s wrath…

It was then the girl noticed he was crying. _Draco Malfoy was crying._ Suddenly, all the anger and derision and scorn she had been carrying for the boy all year evaporated, and all she was left with was a woefully sad and awkward feeling of…

She suddenly shook her head as if attempting to clear it. 

_Just what had Malfoy got himself mixed up in?!_

And that was when he looked up.

* * *

Draco stared in shock as he noticed in the mirror two bright green eyes gazing back at him.

_Those eyes…_

He knew those eyes.

Hattie Potter!

He whipped around, his mouth twisted in a scowl as he came face to face with the girl, his mind attempting to conjure any reason at all as to why she was suddenly standing there with him.

_Of all moments._

He could find none.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he barked, one of his hands leaping to his hair where he began anxiously running his fingers through it. _Why? Why was she_ there?!

Potter’s mouth dropped open. “I – uh –” she stammered, a pale pink blush forming on her cheeks. “I just – uh…” she took a step back, her right hand reaching behind her for the door. “I heard voices.” She flicked her eyes toward the ghost hovering nearby then back to him. “I recognized Myrtle’s and I just wondered –”

“You wondered who could possibly be talking to me?!” Moaning Myrtle sniffed, the pitch of her voice rising with each word. “Who could possibly want to have anything to do with poor pathetic Moaning Myrtle?”

“No!” Potter said, her forehead creasing in a frown. “That’s not what I thought.” She glanced again at Draco. “I just…it doesn’t matter.” She turned toward the door. “I’m just going to –”

Draco stared at the girl’s slim figure – at her pale fingers wrapping around the doorknob. _No!_ his brain screamed. _She is not going to walk away that easy._

Not this time.

“Potter!” he growled, his voice unnaturally loud sounding in the high-ceilinged room.

The girl paused. She didn’t turn around to face him, but her hand froze in place on the doorknob.

“Turn around, Potter,” Draco commanded. 

For a moment, the girl did nothing, her delicate shoulders rigid and her hand still in place on the door, then, unbelievably, her body seemed to relax despite itself and she pivoted around to face him, all lightly blushing cheeks and slightly trembling limbs and green eyes that were desperately trying to look at everything else in the room but him.

Draco let out a low growl. Sweet Mercury, the girl was so infuriatingly beautiful. It was something he had long thought – a secret he shared with no one – but it was a fact he couldn’t deny. He would never admit to anyone how often he wished certain events had turned out differently when he had first met her when he was eleven. How he wished it had been him and not Weasley who had garnered her friendship…

“Potter, look at me,” he ordered.

She didn’t move. A droplet of water fell in one of the sinks and its sound reverberated throughout the quiet room.

_“Look at me!”_

She did. She closed her eyes briefly first, a deep inhale of air clearly filling her lungs – perhaps to steel herself for what she was about to do, and then she directed her famous emerald gaze toward him.

_Him._

Draco breathed in her attention like a dying man gasping for air.

“All I’ve ever wanted,” he said quietly, the world ceasing to exist except for the small space between him and her, “was for you to see me.”

* * *

“Just _see_ me,” Malfoy’s voice cracked as he repeated his plea to her.

Hattie blinked her eyes, something like a lump forming in her throat. _Just what was going on with her?_ Her hands twisted behind her back.

“I do see you,” she whispered. And in fact, she had never seen him more clearly. No cronies standing in the wings; no threats of a father’s revenge; no irritating superior attitude. Just…him. A boy with the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders; a feeling she could commiserate intimately with.

So she looked at him, and he looked at her, and before she could formulate any kind of follow-up line to say, he was striding across the eight or ten feet of floor separating them. Then, without any kind of by-your-leave, he grabbed her by her arms, and before she could even utter a word asking him what he thought he was doing, he was pressing his mouth to hers, and when she finally did realize just what was happening, her response was not the one she thought it would be…

His lips were hard and demanding, forceful even, as if he was trying to impress some deep secret into her, which she supposed he was. And they were hot, like fire, burning a trail of some unknown passion...for her.

Dimly, in some part of her brain, she recognized that she was kissing Draco Malfoy, a boy who had made her life as miserable as possible the past several years and whom was most likely serving a man who wanted to kill her, but in another part of her brain, the one that controlled, well, everything else for the moment, she found she didn’t care about any of that as her fingers twisted almost of their own accord in his pale locks.

“Say my name, Potter.”

His warm breath ghosted gently over her skin sending delightful tingling sensations coursing up and down her body. 

“Say it.”

She breathed in deeply of the light but masculine after shave he wore. Could she possibly do it? Could she possibly say his name like they were something more than the enemies they had been for so long? 

Could she?!

His hold on her tightened just a little, the pressure of his fingers on her body eliciting feelings she had never experienced before but found she liked very much.

_“Say it.”_

Say it. Say it. Say it.

“Draco.” 

His lips crashed once again into hers. 

* * *

“Have you ever kissed anyone? Weasley?” Just the thought of the ginger-haired oaf kissing her lips before his made his stomach turn.

“No,” she breathed.

“Diggory then?” he probed, remembering the girl’s date to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. “Did you kiss him.”

“No. I haven’t kissed anyone. Only – only you.”

Her voice was breathy sounding – a result of his ministrations, no doubt – and it made Draco’s mouth twist into a very pleased smirk as he said, “Good,” and continued to caress her lips with his own.

Oh, how long he had privately imagined this very scenario. Her and him. Locked against each other in just this very way. Well, not in a boy’s bathroom, but… _this._

Them.

It was almost unbelievable. So unbelievable he could almost believe this whole past crummy year hadn’t happened. Could almost believe he wasn’t branded with some hideous mark on his arm or threatened with imminent death. Could almost believe he was just a teenage boy who liked a girl and the world wasn’t falling apart all around them.

Yes, he could almost believe it.

It was only vaguely he heard a scream somewhere nearby.

* * *

_“VILE! DISGUSTING! REPUGNANT BEHAVIOR!”_

Severus Snape listened as loud angry cries suddenly erupted from the boy’s bathroom he happened to be passing by on his way to meet with Professor McGonagall.

It wasn’t the first time the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had heard accusatory shouts yelled by students at each other during his sweeps of the hallways in his several years of teaching – usually some kind of lovers’ quarrel, but it was the first time he had witnessed this with Moaning Myrtle, who burst from the aforementioned bathroom a moment later, tears streaming down her pale ghostly cheeks and her shrill voice filling the corridor with ear-piercing clarity.

“I was his friend!” she cried, not noticing the Head of Slytherin House as she wailed away. “Me! I was the one there for him when he needed someone. Not her! Not that – that - “

The ghost suddenly broke down into another giant sob and disappeared through a wall before Severus was able to hear the end of her sentence. 

Wondering just what in all of magical Britain had the former Ravenclaw so wound up – _were students up to no good?_ – he opened the door to the bathroom and – 

The professor literally felt his jaw drop open, and for a moment – a tiny miniscule moment – he lost all bearing of himself, then,

“POTTER! MALFOY! What is the meaning of this?!”

Never before had Severus seen two heads swivel faster in his direction; Potter’s face absolutely mortified, and Draco’s…

Great Neptune, the boy looked pleased with himself. Annoyed at being caught, yes, but there were definitely undercurrents of satisfaction with what had just transpired between him and the girl next to him.

Severus took a deep steadying breath, a feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated for him niggling somewhere in the back of his mind.

_Just great..._

First things first, though.

“Potter,” he barked, the girl paling visibly at his address. “Fifty points from Gryffindor. Go to your dormitory and do not leave there until breakfast. One of the castle’s elves will bring you your supper tonight.”

“Y-yes, Professor,” the girl stuttered out and turned to leave, her usual irritating confidence around him nowhere in sight. Draco reached out to grab her hand, but Severus shot him a look and the boy scowled and watched disappointedly as the witch swiftly exited the bathroom.

Once she was gone, Severus turned to his student and godson and glared.

“Draco, need I remind you of the very precarious situation you and your family are in?” he growled.

The teenager glowered and crossed his arms, clearly upset by the teacher’s reminder of his current state of affairs.

“No.”

“Then why,” Severus wrapped his robes around himself and took a step closer to his student, “in all of Wizarding Europe, were you very inappropriately engaging with Miss Hattie Potter just now?”

“That’s none of your business,” the blond-haired boy spat, his cheeks turning a shade of red any Weasley would be proud of.

“Yes, dear godson,” the professor sneered, “it is, as my life hangs on the line just as much right now in all this as yours does.”

Draco made a scoffing sound and muttered something under his breath.

“What did you say?” Severus stepped closer again, his tone he knew, deadly sharp.

The teenager shot him a defiant look. “I said: what if _that_ isn’t what I want.”

The older wizard swiftly waved his wand and locked the entrance to the bathroom. “Explain yourself.”

His godson lifted his arm and rolled back his sleeve.

“This, uncle. This.”

* * *

Lucius Malfoy reached a hand out and touched the delicate petals of a bluebell flower that sat in a simple vase atop his expansive mahogany desk. He had brought the flower in from the garden that morning – the things were in bloom all across Wiltshire at that time of the year – and now he used it as a subject of a pencil drawing he had been working quietly on for the past hour in his private study. 

The patriarch of the Malfoy family found himself occupying much of his time lately with art. Since his break-out from Azkaban two months prior, he had very little to do to pass the days – the Dark Lord currently spurning him for his failures and society rejecting him altogether – so he picked up a hobby he had not visited much since his youth and found it gave him a sense of purpose, no matter how small, that he hadn’t felt in quite awhile.

It was as he was sitting there, contemplating the vibrant blue color for which the flower was in part named, that Narcissa with Severus Snape in tow quietly entered the room.

“Severus,” the pure-blood rose to greet his old friend, “I had not expected to see you this day.”

“And I had not expected to be here,” the professor said. He then withdrew his wand and looked expectantly at Lucius. “Do you mind if I…?”

Lucius regarded the slim piece of cedar in the other wizard’s hand, the usual pang of anger, envy, and regret welling up inside of him at the sight of a wand, then shook his head. “Of course not, go ahead.” And he watched as the dark-haired man waved his wand in the air, casting a locking charm on the door as well as a _Muffliato_ and _Silencio_ on the whole room.

When the spellwork was complete, Lucius walked over to a small table and poured three glasses of water, handing two of them to his guests. “I’m assuming whatever you are about to say is not pleasant news.”

Severus stared at his glass for a moment, slowly rotating it in his fingers. “That is for you both to decide.”

Lucius glanced at Narcissa to see if she knew what the professor was talking about, but she merely raised her shoulders and shook her head. 

Taking a seat once again behind his desk, the senior Malfoy looked expectantly at his friend. “Well, let’s get on with it then. What news do you bring?”

Never one for small talk or long-winded speeches, Severus cut straight to the chase: “It concerns Draco.”

Lucius sat back in his chair, absorbing the information with dismay yet unsurprised by it at the same time; Narcissa, however, put a hand over her heart and sat down in the nearest chair, her usual perfect posture showing just the slightest hint of cracking.

“I knew it,” she said, her voice shaky. “Of course it’s about Draco. What else could it be to bring you here wishing to speak with both of us?” She turned a pale face toward the godfather of her son. “Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t know if ‘terrible’” Severus said carefully, “would be the word for this particular piece of information.”

Lucius leaned forward, shooting a steely eye at the Potions Master, and suddenly felt himself growing impatient. “What _would_ it be then?”

“Complicated.”

The Malfoy patriarch shook his head. “What could be more complicated than the task he’s already been assigned?”

“Lucius, have you ever considered the idea of having grandchildren?”

Lucius balked at this sudden and strange change of subject. “I beg your pardon.”

“Grandchildren. The future of your house.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Severus took a drink of water then set the glass down on a nearby table. “Where I’m going with this is this: I found Draco and Miss Hattie Potter in near passionate throes with each other in a Hogwarts’ boy’s bathroom. Had I not stumbled upon them when I had, it is very likely your first grandchild would already be more than just a thought.”

For a moment there was quiet, complete and total quiet; Narcissa’s hand moving slowly from her heart to her mouth, her blue eyes widening in shock, and Lucius – 

It was like something in him broke – much like his pencil he had picked up absently when he had sat back down, the two pieces cradled tightly in his hand – some long-held _thing_ that he wasn’t sure if he was glad about or frightened of.

But he had a feeling he was going to have to figure it out pretty fast.

“What,” he finally forced himself to croak out in a voice that sounded nothing like his own, “are you talking about?”

Severus raised his eyebrows at him; a look Lucius was sure he employed with his students at school when they made some dunderheaded mistake or asked some trifling question they should already know the answer to. “Precisely what I said.”

Narcissa cleared her throat, drawing the professor’s gaze back to her. “Draco was…kissing Hattie Potter?” Her eyes flicked from Severus to Lucius and back to Severus. “How can this be?

The professor gave the blond woman a kindly look which wasn’t lost on Lucius. “You really have no idea?”

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other. They had wondered, of course, over the years. About Draco and his persistent chattering on about Potter. In fact, Lucius couldn’t recall a time after the boy had started at Hogwarts where he had not talked about the Gryffindor princess at some point. But they had ignored it, for the most part, or at least Lucius had, chalking it up to some kind of adolescent rivalry or jealousy.

And plus, it was Potter, the enemy of his so-called lord. No one his son could ever truly have any kinds of feelings for. Surely.

But now, as he sat there listening to one of his oldest and most trusted friends speak in an almost casual way about the scene he had encountered between his son and the girl, he had to admit it wasn’t as much of a blindside as he might have thought.

Abruptly, Narcissa stood up and started pacing around the room. “Well, I like it,” she declared challengingly. “I like her. She’s a beautiful girl, both inside and out. A bit headstrong at times from what I’ve been told, but I suppose anyone in her position would be.”

“Narcissa,” Lucius said incredulously, his head snapping in her direction so fast he wondered if a person could give their own self whiplash, “just what are you saying?!”

His son’s mother glared at him before settling in her seat once again. “I’m _saying_ ,” she snapped, “that I approve of the idea of Draco having feelings for Hattie Potter.”

Lucius was suddenly very grateful for the noise cancelling charms Severus had enacted on the room minutes ago. This was not a conversation he would want the Dark Lord or Bellatrix listening in on if they happened to drop by out of the blue.

He set the pieces of broken pencil to the side and stared at the woman he once had called his wife, and who almost all the world still thought was so except for a very very few people. “ _She_ is the enemy of the Dark Lord.”

“And Draco is our son,” the blond woman retorted. She turned to face him more fully, her face determined. “Aren’t you the one who is always saying family comes first?”

“Yes,” Lucius said. “Yes. But this is…” He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers gliding through the long silky strands with ease. He took a deep breath and looked once again to Severus. “Is there nothing you believe that can be done about this? A strict letter of reprimand…?”

Narcissa shot him a furious look – she was ready to abandon the cause, he knew. Had been for awhile actually. The only reason she had stuck with it as long as she had was because of Draco and his future, but now, with this newest revelation…

Severus shook his head. “If I am being honest, I do not believe Draco is any longer devoted to the cause.”

A second silence since the start of their little meeting filled the room; a time during which Lucius scrambled to make sense of his jumbled thoughts – thoughts that were now kicking into survival mode, not for him but for his son. Draco. The sweet tiny baby he had held in his arms years ago. The little boy that had grown into a young man and who now faced risk of death.

Because of him.

His father.

He took another deep breath, his gaze drifting to the little bluebell flower, the brilliant blue once again catching his attention, much like a little blond-haired baby had so long ago.

Who still did.

He raised his eyes to his guests, his voice when he spoke quiet but resolute.

“What can we do?”

Severus and Narcissa exchanged glances.

“We support Draco,” Severus replied. “And from that…”

Narcissa rose suddenly to her feet again, her spine straight and her chin lifted proudly in the air like the well-bred lady that she was. “And from that,” she said, “we plan.”

* * *

Late one evening two weeks after his encounter with Hattie Potter in the bathroom, Draco stood in a small hidden alcove near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, patiently waiting for the young woman to return from the library where he had spied her at an hour earlier.

It wasn’t how he wanted to approach matters – skulking around in the shadows like some kind of Muggle burglar – but he had very few options otherwise, and he _needed_ to see her. She was all he could think about.

And that both frightened and exhilarated him.

Thus, it was on bated breath when he finally spotted her walking down the hall a short while later followed closely by a hoard of First Years. 

Swiftly dispatching the baby Gryffindors with some well-aimed hexes, he sent a cutting charm at Potter’s school bag and watched with pleasure as all its contents spilled onto the floor by her feet, effectively bringing the young woman to a satisfying and lonely halt.

Having secured the opportunity he had been seeking, Draco slipped from his hiding spot, his eyes raking up and down the raven-haired beauty’s figure as she examined a book that had ink staining its cover.

“I can help you with that,” he volunteered, clearly surprising the girl as her green eyes darted from the sorry-looking item in her hands to his face, the emerald orbs widening at his approach.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” the witch said in a trembling voice, a lovely sound that set the Slytherin’s blood racing. “You – you’re not supposed to be here.”

The blond-haired boy smirked. “Who says?” and he reached forward and gently extricated the tarnished tome from her grasp, his fingers gently brushing hers in the process. “Besides, I have to help clean up the mess I made,” he added, and he retrieved his wand once more which he then used to tap her book with, muttering, _“Tergeo.”_

“You – you did this?” the Gryffindor said disbelievingly. “You caused my bag to tear?”

“I did,” the young man replied without remorse. “I want to talk to you.”

Potter took a tiny step back, her cheeks flushing. “I – uh…I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. So if you would please just give me my book…”

Draco stepped forward, closing the space between them again. “Why, Potter? Are you worried about something happening?”

She blushed. “No. I just…” A couple heartbeats of silence passed, then, apparently coming to a decision about something, she straightened her shoulders and held out her hand. “Would you give me my book please?”

Ignoring her request, Draco grabbed her hand and held it, not loose enough she could pull away but not overly tight either so as not to alarm her. Like a pretty little doe, he knew the witch could frighten easily.

“Please,” he breathed, the confidence he had been feelings moments before suddenly slipping away. “Just talk to me.”

The girl looked everywhere but at him, reminiscent of her behavior in the bathroom that fateful day. “I don’t think there’s anything we have to talk about.”

“Yes, there is.” He rubbed his thumb in a gentle circular motion over hers. “Just – just a minute. Please?”

The young woman said nothing, and Draco watched as her emerald eyes moved to their entwined hands which she stared unreadably at for several seconds. He desperately wished he knew what she was thinking, but he was no Legilimens, and he knew for a fact she would _not_ appreciate a little stunt like that if he tried it. So he waited.

And finally… _finally_ …with a tiny sigh and a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she said, “Fine. But just a minute.”

The Slytherin nodded and, with cheeks burning, confessed, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The girl remained quiet at his declaration, but her eyes suggested wariness.

His hand holding hers stilled. “It’s true. Since that kiss…” He took another small step closer to her; they were nearly toe to toe now. “You’re all I think about.”

She shook her head, her hand in his stiffening. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She turned away from him then, unable or not wanting to meet his gaze, and stared unseeingly at some nearby portrait. “Because you’re you.”

“Because I’m a Malfoy?”

A breath of silence, then,

“Because of what you believe.”

This time it was Draco’s turn to shake his head vehemently. “No,” he said sharply. “I don’t care about that. Any of it.” He dropped the book he was still holding and reached out for her other hand, pulling her back toward him. “I don’t want it.”

The girl gaped at him, her face a myriad of emotions, and the Slytherin felt his heart pick up in tempo as he waited for her to say something. Would she believe him? Would she trust the word of a Death Eater? He had never considered himself much of a religious person before, but for some inexplicable reason he found himself silently praying that if ever a special intention was going to be heard by someone of a higher power, this – for her – was it.

And that was when she finally did speak, her voice small, quiet, like someone sharing in a secret. Which in some ways, he mused, she was.

“What do you want?”

Draco curled his fingers around hers, hope budding somewhere in the middle of his chest.

“I want-”

But he wasn’t able to finish just what that was as somewhere off in the distance a clock began to strike the hour. And with its ominous tolling, the magic of their meeting ended, as Potter suddenly whispered, “Curfew,” the first of the two to realize what the sound signaled, and she swiftly withdrew her hands from his.

_A frightened doe, indeed._

Draco watched dumbfounded for a moment as the witch quickly began gathering her forgotten belongings from the floor.

“Potter,” he said weakly, but the girl just shook her head.

“Can’t be out now,” she muttered. “Snape will kill me. He’s been a brute ever since…” her cheeks suddenly flushed as she glanced sheepishly at him before quickly flicking her eyes away. “Erm…it doesn’t matter. I just need to go before...”

_Before we’re caught together again,_ Draco finished her sentence privately to himself. A small feeling of glee danced in his belly at that thought, but he pushed it aside to think about later.

He needed just one more moment of her time that night.

Just one so he could know.

Just one…

“Potter,” the Slytherin tried once more. “Please…”

_Please._

Everything around them grew silent.

The girl was still shuffling her belongings into her arms, but at his second plea she stilled.

Draco held his breath.

Slowly… _slowly_ …she turned toward him, her arms laden with the ripped, bulging mess of her school bag.

They held each other’s gazes, and for several seconds not a word passed. 

And for just a moment again, like in the bathroom when they had kissed, they were just a boy and a girl. Not a Death Eater. Not a hero. Not anything else but two teenagers who saw something in each other that no one else did.

Finally, in a voice almost practically inaudible, Potter breathed, “Later,” her eyes greener than he had ever seen them, and with a quick little turn of her feet, she was dashing toward the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

Their meeting with each other over.

But, the “Later” wasn’t a _good-bye_ , Draco knew, it was an _until next time_.


End file.
